


Skin Deep

by Rose_of_Pollux



Series: Inktober for Writers 2017 [13]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 23:09:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12352443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: Illya tries to reassure Napoleon that things will be alright after he injures his face in a daring rescue.





	Skin Deep

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt 13 of Inktober for Writers: Foolish

Illya had been returning from a solo mission when he’d heard about it—that Napoleon had been off-duty when a frantic pair of parents had pleaded with him to save their child, who was trapped in a fire, but emergency crews had not yet arrived. Napoleon hadn’t thought twice; he had charged into the fire to rescue the child. He had succeeded and the child was going to be alright, but Napoleon had sustained some burns on his face during the rescue. Illya had stopped off at Medical, only to find that Napoleon had already left—though the doctors assured him that the damage to Napoleon’s skin was only superficial, it would, nevertheless, not look too good until it healed. And Napoleon had not wanted to be seen by anyone looking like that.

Illya had gone home immediately, sighing as he found Baba Yaga clawing at the locked bedroom door.

And so Illya now stood with his arms folded outside of the bedroom, impatiently kicking at it.

“Napoleon!” he yelled. “Napoleon, you are being incredibly foolish! And I might as well warn you that my patience is wearing thin!”

Baba Yaga, now standing beside Illya, meowed in concern.

“You cannot stay locked in there forever!” Illya said. “Don’t question my intent to break the door in!”

There was a “click” as the door unlocked, and Illya stormed inside, seeing Napoleon covering his face with his hand as best he could, turning away from him. He looked so miserable, that Illya’s expression softened.

“Napoleon,” Illya said, gently touching his shoulder. “It’s not as bad as you think—really.”

“You’re just saying that,” Napoleon countered, as Baba Yaga meowed and walked figure eights around his legs.

“Napoleon, I would not lie to you. You know that I have no tact whatsoever; if it was bad, I would let you know. Your burns are only in the superficial epidermis; they will heal, and there should be no scarring.”

Napoleon looked back at him, removing his hand from his face. Indeed, his burns were not too serious, even if they would be painful until they healed. The non-injured side of his face was flushed red with embarrassment.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of, Napoleon; you saved a child from a fire,” Illya said. “A family is still intact tonight because of your actions.”

Illya now drew Napoleon into a fond embrace. He knew his partner cared about his appearance a lot; it was a certain kind of vanity—not a mean-spirited vanity, but a vanity born from immense self-consciousness on account of Napoleon relying on charming people as his number-one strategy. It was also a vanity born from his desire as Illya’s partner to give him the very best—again, from immense self-consciousness, which was why Napoleon had locked himself away, not wanting Illya to see him like this.

“You are a hero, Napoleon,” Illya said, gently kissing him. “It will take more than an injured face to change that. And, as I said, these are not burns that will leave permanent marks. In a few weeks, you will be back to normal—and even if they had been more serious wounds, you know that would not have changed anything.”

Baba Yaga now climbed up Napoleon, meowing until he gently cradled her in one arm; she attempted to place her head against Napoleon’s as she purred.

“See? Even she agrees. And the purring can only help—the frequency stimulates tissue renewal.”

“Guess you’re both right,” Napoleon admitted. “Thanks.”

“But of course.”

“Guess I am just a vain idiot deep down. Still,” Napoleon sighed. “It’s going to be very hard trying to look at myself in the mirror for the next few weeks…”

“Napoleon,” Illya said. “If you hadn’t gone back to rescue that child, you would have found it impossible to look at yourself in the mirror for the rest of your life. And _that_ is the person you truly are deep down.”

Napoleon blinked, looking at Illya, and, finally, he managed a smile as he nodded.

Wounded face or not, he didn’t regret what he had done. Somewhere else in New York, a family was together after a horrible day, just as Napoleon was with his family again now.

He could live with that.


End file.
